


Command Performance

by Severina



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Community: tamingthemuse, Post Season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-24
Updated: 2012-06-24
Packaged: 2017-11-08 11:11:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/442582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Glenn might be wiry, but Daryl's got brute strength on his side.  He has Glenn spun around and trapped against the side of the shed in about two seconds flat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Command Performance

**Author's Note:**

> Written for LJ's tamingthemuse community, prompt 'audience' 
> 
> This is a standalone that takes place in the _condemnedverse_ universe. It's not sequential to the other stories, so to avoid confusion with the parts that ARE in order, I removed it from the "condemnedverse series" tag. This one, I'd say, takes place about a month after they get together. Daryl and Glenn are now an established couple, and Daryl's still trying to figure out how that works.
> 
> * * *

It starts out as a discussion. 

Daryl's been working real hard at that these past few weeks. Just 'cause his first instinct when somebody pisses him off is to yell or kick things, that don't mean he has to do it. Also, it helps that Glenn hardly ever pisses him off.

Except now.

But he's still trying. He's keepin' his voice down and he's mostly lookin' Glenn straight in the eye, doing his best to be clear and concise as he makes his point. And sure, his hands are clenched into fists but that don't mean he's going to throw down. He can be as calm and fuckin' rational as the next guy.

It's Glenn that starts yelling.

"I can't believe you!" Glenn shouts. He pushes ineffectually at the tent before his fumbling fingers find the zipper and he stumbles out into the early morning sunshine. "Stop treating me like I'm an idiot!"

"Then stop actin' like an idiot!" Daryl yells back – just so he can be heard, mind – and pushes at the flap to follow the kid outside. 

Glenn rounds on him as soon as he clears the threshold. "I've gone on dozens of supply runs by myself. Dozens of them!"

"Yeah? And last time you walked into a goddamn room full of walkers with your head up your ass!"

"I was distracted!"

Daryl knows he'll never forget that moment. It's leapfrogged into the number one spot on his most common nightmare list, vaulting easily past the one where Merle comes back to camp, drawn and emaciated and croaking that it's all his fault for abandoning him. It even gets more airplay in his sleeping brain than the one where Glenn is taken by the damn Vatos and keeps screaming his name, screaming till he's hoarse and struggling to get away and Daryl beats futilely at the frost-wire fence, clutches at it 'til his own fingers are stripped red and raw and still can't get through.

Now it's them going to that strip mall and Glenn opening the door to that damn storeroom, freeing the walkers inside. Except in his dreams they don't manage to clear a path through the festerin' bastards and make it to the roof. In his dreams, Glenn goes down in a mass of clutching hands and gaping jaws, shrieking as rotting teeth tear into his flesh, and no matter how hard Daryl fights to get through to him he can never reach him in time. Never.

Daryl takes a breath, forces his fingers to unclench. "That's my damn point."

Glenn throws up his hands. "Oh my god. You were the one who distracted me!"

"Oh. So now it's my fault you almost got your damn self killed?

Glenn opens his mouth, and Daryl can almost see all the things he wants to say spinning around in his brain. But he finally just huffs out a breath, shakes his head. "You know what? This conversation is over."

When he turns to go, Daryl finds his teeth clenching. He reaches out to wrap a hand around Glenn's bicep. "You ain't walkin' away from me."

Glenn might be small, but he's wiry. And he proves that he's been paying attention to all the lessons Daryl's been givin' him on self defense, 'cause he twists quickly, pivots with one leg and is out of the hold before Daryl can do more than blink. Daryl'd be lying if he said he wasn't impressed, but all he does is jut his chin up higher, give the kid a glare that would send most anybody else in the damn camp scurryin' away with their tails between their legs.

Glenn just meets it with one of his own.

"I'll do whatever the hell I want," Glenn says, eyes flashing. "Including go on a supply run!"

Daryl shakes his head slowly. "You're stayin' right here."

"Yeah?" Glenn sneers as he turns to go. "Make me."

Glenn might be wiry, but Daryl's got brute strength on his side. He has Glenn spun around and trapped against the side of the shed in about two seconds flat. He jerks on the kid's arms to pin them above his head, digs his thigh between the kid's legs and plants his other hand on Glenn's waist to keep him steady. When Glenn squirms and struggles, he just presses closer, uses his added weight to keep the kid exactly where he wants him.

And where he wants him is right here. 

Glenn's squirming has caused his T-shirt to ride up just a little, and Daryl's suddenly hyper aware of the warm strip of skin beneath his thumb, the rapid-fire thump of Glenn's heartbeat against his chest. Glenn's mouth, open and panting, just inches from his own. When he surges forward to take those lips he feels Glenn stiffen, hesitate for maybe two seconds before he's giving back as good as he's getting. Somehow the hand that was on Glenn's waist has made its way up his straining body to bury itself in that silky hair, and Daryl wraps his fingers in the strands and tugs the kid's head to the side for a better angle, works his tongue and jaw and gets a low answering moan for his efforts.

He finally pulls away, lips bruised, heart beatin' way too fast.

"You make me mental," he mutters into the smooth skin of the kid's neck.

And that's when he hears the chuckling and slow clapping behind them. Then a long wolf whistle that can only belong to Andrea. 

"Ohhhhh shit," Glenn murmurs.

Daryl feels his shoulders tense, is only aware that he's actually released the kid's hands when Glenn's fingers smooth over his back and then up into the damp hair at the nape of his neck. He forces back a shiver before he squares his shoulders, steps back and away and fixes Glenn with another stare. "This ain't over."

Glenn glances down at his tented jeans. "God," he says, "I hope not."

And there it is, that thing that makes him crazy, that thing that makes his lips start to quirk up in a smile whether he wants 'em to or not. That thing that lets him know that no matter how much he flails and rails and protests, he's eventually going to give in. Glenn will go off on his supply run, probably tomorrow, and Daryl knows he will stomp around and bite people's heads off until he's back safe and sound. 

He shakes his head. "Mental," he repeats before stalking off.

He deliberately doesn't look up as he pushes through the group of gawkers gathered around the breakfast fire, ignores their low-voiced mumbles and snickers. But as he's reaching the treeline, Lori's voice pipes up loud and clear over the rest.

"Rick," she says teasingly, "how come you and I never argue like that?"


End file.
